


like candy in my veins

by Mertiya



Series: The Lysidetta Chronicles [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Black Eagles route, F/F, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Marriage Proposal, Medical Procedures, Post-Game(s), spoilers for lysithea's backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:41:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21808366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mertiya/pseuds/Mertiya
Summary: Lysithea prepares for an operation.
Relationships: Lysithea von Ordelia/Bernadetta von Varley, My Unit | Byleth/Edelgard von Hresvelg (background)
Series: The Lysidetta Chronicles [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1561123
Comments: 17
Kudos: 63





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title from the song "Electric Love" by BØRNS

The room is very big. Lysithea feels very small. It’s a bedroom, not a hospital room, although there is what she thinks of as hospital-room equipment at the side of the bed. Or infirmary equipment. She chooses not to remember that there was equipment very like it the rooms of her parents’ own home, when she was a child. She doesn’t want to remember that. Particularly not the smell.

Sometimes she wonders if that’s why she likes sweet things so much. Because of the sharp, sour smell that always hung around the slitherers. She remembers not being allowed to eat anything but porridge when they were still—

And it wasn’t good porridge. There was no sugar on it. It was always, always shot through with that _smell_. She ate it because she was so hungry, but she hated it. For two weeks after they left, she couldn’t make herself eat anything. Finally, her mother—eyes swollen and red, voice cracked, so clearly desperate—brought her a little ice cream festooned with fresh apples from the orchard and begged her to eat, so Lysithea tried. And to her surprise, the sweetness on her tongue drove out the smell, at least for as long as she had it in her mouth. She never worried them by not eating again.

It doesn’t smell like that here. There are flowers on the window, and the window is cracked open a little, so a warm morning breeze blows in, carrying the scent of roses, newly cut grass, and several pitcher plants. Bernie brought those in last night, explaining they would keep her company until she was able to come back in the morning. She has names for all of them, but Lysithea doesn’t remember what they are. She ought to, she thinks, but thinking is difficult. Her thoughts swirl around; her stomach is a tight, unpleasant knot.

A light knock on the door heralds Linhardt’s arrival. His gentle smile and calm presence always put Lysithea at ease. He tells her that her parents have arrived and want to see her, asks if she’s all right with seeing them. Lysithea swallows and nods, and Linhardt goes to fetch them.

“Oh, my darling.” Her mother embraces her, and her father takes her hand.

“How are you doing?” Father asks.

“I’m fine,” Lysithea tells him fiercely, because she is, and she will be, and despite the tight cold lump in her stomach, she _trusts_ Lin.

“You’re sure you want to do this?” Mother asks, and Lysithea nods.

“It will be all right,” she tells them, her determination to keep them safe and happy fueling the strength in her voice, as it always does. “Linhardt is brilliant. He knows what he’s doing. And it’ll make it all right. You’ll see.” She gives her mother a petulant look, almost childish—she won’t do this for anyone but her parents, but it will make them feel safer, so she does. “You’d better give me a bowl of ice cream afterwards, though.”

“Of course, darling,” Mother says, stroking her hair back from her forehead. “Of course.”

They sit with her for about twenty minutes before Linhardt returns and apologetically shoos them out, telling them he has to set up for the operation. Bernie trails in after him, twisting her hands nervously at her front. “Thea!” she squeals, half-pouncing as she throws her arms around Lysithea. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” Lysithea rolls her eyes, but she kisses Bernie’s cheek affectionately. “Nothing’s _happened_ yet.”

“Right.” Bernie doesn’t say anything about her collapsing in the kitchen last week while they were baking, which is nice of her. Instead, she kisses Lysithea sloppily on the mouth. Lysithea can taste sugar on her tongue.

“Are we interrupting?”

“Ah,” says Linhardt. “Your Majesties. You are, as a matter of fact.” He sounds only faintly irritated, probably because of the respect Lysithea knows he has for El and Byleth.

“We do apologize,” Edelgard says, sweeping majestically into the room with Byleth on her arm. Byleth pulls an almost comical sympathetic face, but her dark eyes shine with concern. “We just wanted to check on Lysithea.”

“She is perfectly stable and in perfectly good hands, and I was about to have Manuela and Hanneman join me to begin the operation,” Lin says primly.

“We won’t hold you up then.” Edelgard pauses for a moment at the side of the bed. “Lysithea von Ordelia,” she says formally. “You are under strict royal orders to stay safe, do you understand?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Lysithea chuckles, her hand held tight in Bernie’s. “Everyone should stop worrying. It’s going to be fine.”

“You’re not supposed to be the one reassuring everybody!” Bernie protests. She makes a cute little pout that does more to reassure Lysithea than anything else really could. “Everyone should leave now and stop fussing.” She crosses her arms in a most un-Bernie-like display of assertion. “Go away, Your Majesties. Um. R-Respectfully.”

Edelgard laughs; Byleth nods and tugs her towards the door. As they exit, Lysithea sees her old professor lean over and nibble on Edelgard’s ear.

“Are you comfortable?” Linhardt asks. “You will be lying down and unconscious for the next several hours, so you’re going to wake up very stiff if you don’t lie in a good position.”

“I’m fine,” Lysithea tells him steadily. She appreciates the _you’re going to wake up_.

He nods and then busies himself setting up the equipment. He gets Bernie to lie down beside her, and she clasps Lysithea’s hand and turns her face sideways to look at her. “I, um, I l-l-love you, Thea,” she whispers, and she’s said that before but it never fails to make Lysithea’s stomach warm and her eyes prickle.

“I love you too, Bernadetta von Varley,” she says, and Bernie bites her lip.

“I w-w-wanted to ask you,” she says, stumbling over her words, and Lysithea has no idea where she’s going with this, when she blurts, “I don’t want it anymore.”

“You don’t want…what?”

“My name!”

Lysithea blinks at her. “You don’t? I thought you liked me calling you Bernie.”

“Not that! I don’t like my second name.”

Well, that’s not very surprising. She’s never said it in quite those terms before, but Lysithea is very aware by now of what Bernie’s horrible father did to her. She’s spent more time than she wants to admit to fantasizing about killing him slowly. She’s not quite sure why this conversation is happening _now_ , admittedly, but it’s a good distraction. “What name do you want instead, Bernie?”

Bernie flushes pink right across her cheeks. “Well. The one I r-r-really want is von Ordelia,” she says, and Lysithea feels her ears heating up as she suddenly _gets_ it.

“Are you _proposing_?”

“Yes! No—I mean, yes, but only if you want me to?”

“Of course I want you to,” Lysithea says, squeezing her hand. “Of course I do. Of course.”

There’s not much more time for talking, because Linhardt is back, and Manuela and Hanneman are with him. They’re setting up some healing magic that looks fascinating, but Lysithea doesn’t have much of a chance to ask questions before they’re inserting some clear tubes in her wrists and in Bernie’s.

“Your wrists probably will hurt for a few days, I’m sorry,” Linhardt tells her. “And now I just want you to try to relax. Can you do that, Thea?”

It’s not as easy as she expected it to be. Even with the flowers, there’s still a sharp scent in the room, a scent of blood and magic that makes her want to cry and run away and hide. But Bernie’s beside her, her warmth and her sweet smell, and Lysithea closes her eyes and focuses on that, until something strange and fuzzy descends on her mind and she finds herself floating away into a white void.


	2. Chapter 2

_She doesn’t know where she is._

_She doesn’t know who she is._

_She’s in a strange place, a white place, an empty place. There are two men here with her, one of them in bishop’s robes, the other wearing the distinctive light armor of a mortal savant. They raise their hands in greeting, and she raises a hand back._

_“Where am I?” she says hesitantly._

_The men look at one another. “That’s not an easy question to answer, I’m afraid,” says the man in the bishop’s robes. “In one sense, nowhere.”_

_“That’s not a very good response,” she tells him in irritation._

_“You could just say you don’t know, Gloucester,” growls the savant._

_“It’s not that simple,” Gloucester protests. “But—all right. I don’t know, Lysithea.”_

_Lysithea. “Is that my name?” she asks. It seems right, but she can’t remember._

_They nod. The bishop goes to one knee. “Can I ask your forgiveness?” he says. “For what has been done to you, before it is undone and I am no more?”_

_It’s hard to forgive someone when you don’t know what you’re forgiving them for, but her chest is tight, and she feels as if she’s losing an old friend. Usually you forgive friends, don’t you? “Yes,” she says. “I forgive you.”_

_“I’ll take care of her, Gloucester.” The savant puts a hand on her shoulder, and she realizes Gloucester is hard to see, his pale form almost merging with the mist in a way that the savant is not._

_“Thank you, old friend,” whispers the bishop, and the whiteness spreads across Lysithea’s vision._

~

Lysithea takes a huge breath and opens her eyes. “…see? She’s fine. She’s fine.” Linhardt’s voice. Her hearing seems to fade in, and she realizes she can also hear Bernadetta sobbing desperately.

“Bernie?” she whispers. “What’s wrong?”

Arms around her. Her wrists hurt. Lin did say they’d hurt. Bernie is bawling into her hair. “You stopped _breathing_!”

“Oh dear,” Linhardt says. “Bernadetta, you’re getting blood everywhere. Please. I may faint.”

“Linhardt, sit down.” Hanneman’s voice now. “Bernadetta, please sit back down as well. Lysithea is fine, and you’re fine, but we do need to stop you both from bleeding too much.”

“S-S-Sorry,” gulps Bernie, and she’s moving away again. The smell of blood is horrible and overpowering. Manuela bends over Lysithea, murmuring the words of a healing spell. It takes the pain in her wrists mostly away but does nothing about the horrible smell.

After a few minutes, they let her sit up. Hanneman and Manuela help her into a sitting position against the pillows, and she can see the room properly. Linhardt is sitting on a chair by the bed, looking quite green, with his head in his hands. Bernie is kneeling on the bed with bandages on her wrists, looking pale and worried. Manuela turns to her and takes her hands, and the white glow of healing magic rises again, soothing and pleasant.

“Did it work?” Lysithea asks. She feels—she definitely feels _different_ , though she’s not sure she can describe it.

It’s Linhardt who answers. “Yes. You only have the crest you were born with. You also have a bit of Bernie’s blood still circulating, which—” he looks up and peers at her. “—I _imagine_ has to do with the color your hair has taken on, but I would really, really like to study that in greater detail.”

“My hair?” Lysithea echoes in confusion. “What about my—”

“Oh my goddess!” Bernie squeaks. “Your hair is _purple_!”

“My hair is _what_?” She looks down at the strands lying on her shoulder. It’s not purple like Bernie’s, but it’s not white anymore either. There’s a definite lilac shade. “Oh!” It’s actually lovely. “I think I like it.”

“I don’t know if it will last,” Linhardt says thoughtfully. “Can I study it?”

Lysithea gives him a glare, then a long-suffering sigh. “I _suppose_. As long as I get something very sweet in my mouth in the next ten seconds.”

“I’ll get you some ice cream,” Linhardt says hastily. Bernie snuggles up beside her and kisses her cheek, then her mouth.

“Why did you stop breathing?” she demands.

“I didn’t mean to!” Lysithea holds onto her tightly. “Besides, I started again, didn’t I?”

“Well, yes.” Bernie kisses her again. “B-But it was scary.”

“It’s fine now,” Lysithea tells her, and Hanneman and Manuela are right on the other side of the room now, bickering as usual, so she reaches out and squeezes Bernie’s right breast. Bernie squeals and wriggles. “After the ice cream,” Lysithea says firmly, “I want to taste something else.”

If there’s one thing nicer than the new color of her hair, it’s the color that Bernie’s face goes when she says that. Bernie. Her fiancée.


End file.
